I would sing a song written by a friend of mine named Aaron Nathans. He used to live, here, in Madison, WI. He now lives in Wilmington, DE.

The song is called "Fire On The Prairie". It fascinates me because it's something of a musical Rorschach test. What it's about depends on who is singing it, who is listening, and under what circumstances.
On the surface it's a train song in a minor key.I'm sure that you will develop your own idea of what's going on here, though.

FIRE ON THE PRAIRIE

I carry my poker face here in my suitcase,
Long black hair and long leather back,
She leans out the window and leans down the track.
Five hundred miles away from wherever,
Roll up my sleeves and wipe my brow.
Canadian Rye stretching on through forever,
My mind is set on now.

You can see the sunshine through the window,
Hear the train whistle from afar,
See her step up with those big, black boots,
We're the only ones on the car.

I sit catty corner so she can't see me
Two rows behind, across the aisle,
She stares at the tall grass.
I study her profile.
I imagine she works at a hospital,
Answers the phone, takes the pay,
Working from seven to sunrise
Every other day.

Bridge 1:
She's got a book, but I can't see it.
Could that be German on the page?
Is that the skyline of Paris, France?
Is any man safe,
From fire on the prairie,
Slow burn.
Hens and foxes running,
But man never learns.

Our forefathers cut a swath through the prairie,
Moved it and laid down a line full of track.
You can fight the forces of Nature,
But, Nature fights back.
So, they went and set fire to the prairie.
Weeds grow up, put 'em back in the ground.
Some never heeded the warning.
They put roots down.

Bridge 2:
And now this train is getting crowded.
I'm so close I feel her breath,
As if I would get much closer,
I would catch my death
Of fire on the prairie,
Slow burn.
Hens and foxes running,
But, man never learns.

Can of tomato juice here in my pocket,
It's April the world is coming alive.
Soon folks will be wearing their t-shirts,
And loosening their ties.
Every April the roll out new models.
I'm never a buyer
I'm only a spy.
Suitcase beside me, Good Lord behind me,
I step off that big, old train,
And walk on by.


See what I mean?
Stephen Lee